


Thanks For the Memories

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: F/M, Marriage Proposal, OTP Feels, Post Bridget Jones's Baby, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, That blasted reindeer jumper, Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 19:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8413297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Mark has it all, but not quite. He has Bridget in his life, but what's stopping her from leaving?





	

**Author's Note:**

> A Tumblr prompt fill for @boothseeley! _Mark's second proposal of marriage to Bridget. Maybe, set a month or so after William's birth - if you feel like it's too soon or right after his birth while Mark sits with Bridget and they watch William sleep and talk about giving it another go. Either or if you have a different idea altogether lol (it's your story after all.)_ I kind of got carried away with the idea, so it's the general idea from the prompt :)

The first time Mark had proposed to Bridget, it hadn't gone as he planned. It was of no fault of Bridget's (she told him later that she felt guilty for “ruining it”), but rather of Mark’s. For someone so organized and put together, Mark  _ still  _ cringed at the half-cocked way he had asked the woman of his dreams to marry him.

They hadn't even technically been together when he blurted out that there was something he meant to ask her. She had come back from Thailand, found out the lengths he went to save her from prison, and showed up at work to thank him and profess her love for him in front of a room full of diplomats. That  _ shouldn't  _ have been the moment. He told himself that all the time. But he had been so caught up in the relief and gratitude of her returning to him that he just...said it. 

Honestly, it was probably a cringe worthy moment for both of them. Mark hated the sloppy job he did--Bridget deserved the moon, not a slapped together proposal--and Bridget hated that she basically shot him down before he even got to ask. They had obviously gotten over it, moved on and fell more in love (and sadly out of love), but they were back now where they started with new responsibilities and a new respect for the other. 

It had been eight months since Bridget had laid their son in his arms, and it was in that first instant of paternal connection that he knew he couldn't let Bridget slip through his fingers again. The first three months of William’s life left him no room to actually propose--between the sleepless nights, the long work days, and navigating the open sea of parenting, they were both exhausted, but blissfully happy. Mark wanted nothing more in those months--he had Bridget and William and a new challenge to tackle. 

In months three to six of William’s life, Mark had started to think about properly proposing. Life, of course, got in the way. Mark wasn't working nearly as much as he used to, per his promise to Bridget, but he found himself busy with being a father. Now that they had a routine in place and William was on a schedule, Bridget and Mark could enjoy their son. They took him to the beach for a mini holiday, and made frequent trips to Grafton Underwood to see their parents and let them enjoy their grandson. There were outings to the park, lunches with the Urban Family, and visits to chambers so Mark could show off his chubby cheeked son. Overall, Mark was OK with not proposing--he and Bridget were rebuilding their lives and making them better. 

It was now the end of November, eight months after the whirlwind moment Mark found out that he indeed had a son, and he finally found himself being able breathe. The holidays were approaching which always made Mark nostalgic for Bridget and all that she stood for in his life. From their tragic first meeting at Pam Jones’ turkey curry buffet, to trekking through the snow to confess his love for her, Mark always thought of Bridget when the weather became cold. She was the warmth that seeped into his bones and encased his heart, and this year that warmth was stronger than it had ever been before. He wanted that warmth to stay in his life forever--he had spent too many cold months without her, and the frostbite that had malaised his heart was something he never wanted to feel again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bridget arrived home from work on a blustery November day, stamping her feet and blowing into her hands. She had been living at Mark’s for almost six months now--Mark had insisted on staying with her at her flat during the first two months of their son’s life, and in hindsight she was so thankful for his wisdom. She still wondered how she ever would have managed moving her entire life  _ and  _ a newborn into Mark’s house any earlier than they had. 

Now that they lived with Mark, Bridget had fallen into a comfortable rhythm--all she had ever wanted was a family with Mark, and now she had it. She wasn't even upset that she never got the white wedding she had dreamt of...what mattered the most was the man she shared a bed with every night and the child that shared half of that man’s genetic make up. 

When she walked into the entryway of the house, Bridget was surprised to see William sitting there in a bouncy walker. She had left her son at the babysitter’s that morning and wasn't due to get him until later--she had wanted to run a few errands while she was baby free. Will gurgled and cooed at her when he saw her, and Bridget picked him up. “What are you doing home, darling?” she asked as she planted a kiss on his cheek. Looking around, Bridget couldn't find any signs of Mark. His coat wasn't in the closet, his keys weren't by the door, and she couldn't catch a whiff of cologne to save her life. “Mark?” she called out, but her voice just echoed through the house. 

A twinge of nerves started to creep into her chest-- _ This is bloody bizarre.  _ She looked down at the walker where Will had been to find a crumpled piece of paper in the seat. Bridget carefully leaned down with Will in her arms and grabbed it with two fingers. It was a note, written in Mark’s neat scrawl:

 

_ My dearest Bridget, _

_ First of all, don't panic about Will. He's part of the plan and perfectly fine (we've been practicing sitting in the walker alone, and as expected, he's a champion at following instructions). Will is the first step in a course I want to direct you on. You'll find the next step just a few steps ahead, in the living room.  _

 

_ All of my love,  _

_ M _

 

Despite the letter clearly being of Mark’s volition, it did nothing to quiet the nerves in Bridget's chest.  _ This seems far too grand a gesture for Mark _ , she thought as she made her way into the living room. She glanced around, shifting Will’s weight in her arms. Everything seemed totally normal...until she spotted the next clue. 

On the coffee table was a small wooden box with the lid open. Bridget had never seen it before, so it stuck out like a sore thumb. She walked over to it and found nestled inside the pregnancy test she had taken to find out that she was pregnant with William. Bridget lifted a shaking hand to her mouth as she fought back tears. She didn't even know that Mark knew she had saved it. A small piece of paper was next to the box on the table--she immediately recognized Mark’s handwriting. 

 

_ B-- _

_ I'm sure that this moment shook you to your core, for I can only express my own feelings when you told me. Elation, fear, excitement, hope...I'm so thankful for this moment, because it means that you'll be in my life for as long as Will is.  _

 

_ To continue the journey, follow the trail.  _

 

_ x, _

_ M _

 

To Bridget's right, she noticed a line of Will’s building blocks making a pathway into the next room. She made her way into the dining room to find a pamphlet propped open on the table. It was cream colored and had Jude’s eye for detail emblazoned across the front of it. “Oh my god,” Bridget murmured as she realized what it was. Next to it was another note. 

 

_ B- _

_ This one is self-explanatory. I don't think I'll ever be able to go to another christening without thinking about all of those blasted buttons on that green dress. Just know, I meant what I said--I did miss you, and I missed you every second I wasn't with you. _

 

_ You know the routine by now.  _

 

_ x, _

_ M _

 

More blocks carved a path through the house, and Bridget followed them diligently. She was continuously gobsmacked at the things that Mark had pilfered away over the years--ticket stubs from a Madonna concert he had brought her to (“ _ Thank you again for not wearing your cone bra” _ ), a matchbook from a hotel they had stayed at on a trip to America ( _ “I'm happy to report that you are just as delicious on American soil as you are back home” _ ), the receipt from the locksmith when he had a house key made for Bridget ( _ “I appreciate you not losing or chucking the key from this day--it's saved me a lot of headaches” _ ), a pair of champagne flutes they had picked out at Tiffany for the nuptials they never exchanged ( _ “In hindsight, I’m glad we didn't go with my choice. These are far superior to anything I would have picked” _ ). Every piece of their history had a quick, heartfelt note next to it, and Bridget couldn't help marveling at Mark’s memory. 

As she continued through the house, she began to realize that Mark was leading her through their relationship in perfect chronological order.  _ Leave it to that beautiful brain of his.  _ After finding the lavender colored invitation to her parents’ vow renewal, her heart skipped a beat at what was next.  _ There's no way he's kept it for this long,  _ she thought.

In the kitchen, perched on a tiny cake stand, was the red leather box that Mark had housed her original engagement ring in.  _ It can't be.  _ She hesitantly picked the box up, pushing down an odd feeling in her stomach--if he had kept the ring this entire time, he had never stopped loving her. All of those galling misconceptions she had and second guesses about Mark’s true feelings for her that plagued her for years would suddenly seem trivial. She opened the box and immediately welled up. 

There sat her original engagement ring, pristine as the day he had given it to her. Wedged into the box was a small piece of paper, folded several times to accommodate the space of the box. With Will still straddling her hip, Bridget juggled the box so that she could dislodge the paper. 

 

_ My darling Bridget, _

_ Where do I even begin. I've kept this ring since the day you slid it off your finger and handed it back to me. I think part of it was pride--part of me thought you'd come back--and part of it was stubborn disbelief. Even in the years I was with Camilla, I kept this in the hopes that you'd show up on my doorstep and give me a second shot. It's been buried under clothes in my drawers, rattled around my pockets on days being without you was unmanageable, hid in my desk drawers, and has been held in my fingers numerous times since you gave it back to me.  _

_ I'm not including this to bring up the sour memories, but rather to apologize for the absolute shit job I did at being your partner. Despite my reputation at having a macabre outlook on life, you need to know that whenever I am with you, that outlook is drastically changed. Everything is brighter. Everything is hopeful. I kept this ring to keep me grounded in those beautiful outlooks that you somehow instilled in my soul. Even with the pain it caused me to be reminded of you leaving, I would have never gotten rid of this--you've made me a better person, and I want to apologize for all of the heartbreak I ever caused you.  _

 

_ You're still not done. See you soon.  _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Mark _

 

“Bloody hell,” Bridget murmured, picking the ring up out of the leather box. She remembered when Mark had first given it to her--the sheer size of the diamond had taken her breath away. She could still feel the embarrassment in the pit of her stomach when she had seen it--part of her knew that Mark had been ostentatious with his choice to make up for the shoddy proposal job he had executed. But Bridget  _ was _ a woman who appreciated a beautiful diamond, and she had thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him with passion to thank him for the diamond. 

Since that moment, Bridget had often thought that, if given the chance to do the whole thing over, she would've been honest with Mark about not needing something of that caliber. A 4-carat flawless diamond from Cartier wasn't her style (even if she had dreamt that it was). She had come to realize that she didn't need much from Mark to show her that he loved her...the Cartier diamond made her feel like he was overcompensating how to show her his love for her, and it made her feel a little empty inside.

Bridget shook the feeling off and looked up around the kitchen. Across the tile floor on the opposite counter was her next clue. There was a cluster of things that Mark had laid out on the counter, more nuggets of history from their 10 year relationship. 

She found his plane ticket from Thailand ( _ “By far one of the scariest jobs I've ever had to tackle, but also the most rewarding” _ ), a ski lift ticket from the mini break they took with Mark’s colleagues ( _ “Sorry again for being incorrigible that weekend” _ ), the key to her old flat ( _ “Just like your ring, I couldn't quite give this up” _ ), and a very blurry photo of the two of them from her first Law Council Dinner ( _ “You can thank Rebecca for this--she was quite sneaky with the camera” _ ). 

Next to the line of papers and mementos was a note. 

 

_ B- _

_ Make way for the staircase. See you soon.  _

 

_ x, _

_ M _

 

Bridget took her cue from the note and made her way to the stairwell. On the bottom step was something she hadn't seen for over a decade--the red leather diary Mark had bought for her when he showed up on her doorstep that snowy night. The accompanying note said:

 

_ Dear Bridget, _

_ The first time you ever opened my eyes to what an arse I can be. In retrospect, I should thank you for pointing out that I acted like I had a giant gherkin stuck up my backside--you weren't far from wrong. Luckily for me,  _ _ this _ _ diary gave me the best kiss of my life.  _

 

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Rude, unpleasant and dull Mark _

 

Bridget couldn't help smiling at his sign off.  _ I still can't believe I wrote that...and I still can't believe he read it.  _ She looked up the staircase and saw that on every other stair was another memento. 

As she ascended the staircase, she found the invitation from his parents’ Ruby Wedding Party ( _ “You knocked me for a loop then and you still do” _ ), a menu from the Greek restaurant that Mark had fought Daniel outside (and inside) of ( _ “I'd still fight him for you...you know, if he wasn't dead (R.I.P.)” _ ), the newspaper from the Aghani/Heaney case that Mark had brought to her flat on her birthday ( _ “Still the best blue soup I've ever had” _ ), her diary before the one Mark gave her, opened to the page where she had written down the time for Magda and Jeremy's dinner ( _ “One of the bravest things I've ever done (and know that I still like you, very much,  _ _ just _ _ as you are)” _ ), and the bunny ears she had worn to Una and Geoffrey’s Tarts & Vicars party ( _ “These caused the biggest fight in the car ride back to London with Natasha, but I think it was one of the best defense cases of my career” _ ). 

The entire time she had picked her way through the house, Bridget had made mental notes to tease Mark for being such a sentimental pack rat. This particular stretch of memory lane, though, made her realize how unwillingly  _ she  _ had given up on their relationship. She was just as bad as Mark, saving diaries and costumes and newspaper clippings.  _ I guess I never really wanted him to leave in the first place,  _ she thought as she reached the second story landing. 

Across from the staircase stood their bedroom door. It was closed, but next to it was William’s Pack-n-Play with a note taped to the front. Bridget padded over to it and pulled the note off to read it closer.

 

_ Bridget- _

_ You're on the last step of your journey. You can leave Will here--we've been practicing this part, too, and it's his favorite by far. Once he's settled, meet me in the bedroom. _

 

_ Love,  _

_ Mark _

 

As Bridget placed their son in the Pack-n-Play, she couldn't help wondering what was now going on. Up until this point, everything seemed like a grand gesture, but with the finale being the bedroom, she thought maybe Mark was just  _ really  _ desperate for a shag.  _ Maybe I should brush my teeth...no, I don't want to keep him waiting. He's used to less than ideal breath by now, anyway, _ she thought as those first few months of Will’s life flashed through her mind. They had taken any chance they could get back then, morning breath and lack of shower be damned. 

Bridget cautiously put a hand on the door knob and pushed--the bolt hadn't been engaged in the lock, so it quietly glided open. “Mark?” she asked hesitantly, stepping past the door. Mark was standing with his back to her, facing out towards the window that overlooked their garden. He hadn't heard her come in, and she could see his hands jammed in his pockets as he quietly talked to himself. 

_ “Deep breath. You've got all of your evidence. The plan is foolproof. Stop worrying. Deep breath.” _

“Mark?” Bridget said again, her volume elevated to get his attention. Mark jumped at her voice and turned around. “Bridget!” he exclaimed, quickly taking his hands out of his pockets to run his fingers through his hair. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“Mark, what's going on? And is that what I think it is?” 

Mark looked down at his torso where a reindeer face was staring haughtily out at Bridget. He smiled sheepishly at her and said, “Is it really that surprising that I've kept it after all of the stuff downstairs?” Bridget let out a choked giggle, trying exceptionally hard to not cry. “No, I suppose it isn't. Mark, what is this all about?” she replied.

Mark crossed the room towards her, his lanky gait hesitant and shy. “Bridget, eight months ago I felt my life start over. The minute you laid William in my arms, I felt like the person I've always wanted to be. I actually had come to your flat the night you went into labor because I found the reindeer jumper. All of those little mementos I’d kept were something to help me ease the pain of losing you, but I hadn't realized it until I got you back. Nothing beats having you back. You're the best memento I have.”

Bridget smiled as she wrapped her arms around Mark’s torso. The green jumper was just as itchy as she had remembered, but it smelled like Mark. She looked up at him, his tawny eyes boring into hers, his lips slightly parted, the fresh-shaven skin of his chin. “Mark, I've always been yours. You know that,” she murmured, placing a palm against his cheek. He nuzzled against it like it was second nature. 

“I've never doubted that, Bridget. But I know you've doubted me and my intentions, and rightfully so. I've always been yours, despite my marriage and the awful job I did at proving it to you. Hence all of the notes--we both know I'm crap when it comes to expressing myself emotionally with my voice, but I'm damn good at doing it on paper. I hope they translated as sincere, because I truly meant every word. You are the only one I've ever actually  _ wanted _ . Just as you are, no strings attached, no compromises made.”

Mark leaned down and placed his lips on hers. It was a soft kiss, one filled with emotion and longing and thankfulness. When the kiss broke apart, she could see the color rising in Mark’s neck just over the turtleneck of the jumper he was wearing. If Mark was terrible at verbally expressing his emotions, his body did it for him--he always cursed the way his neck went splotchy from emotion, and the way his nose became red as he tried to choked back tears. He had spent years training his body to match his demeanor, but very rarely did the emotion he was feeling cool off his blood. In the courtroom it was second nature, but with Bridget it was unfaltering. 

“Mark, are you OK?” Bridget asked, leaning back to look at his face. Mark cleared his throat and avoided her gaze, choosing instead to stare at a spot on the carpet next to them. “I'm fine, I'm fine. I just...Bridget, from the first time I wore this sweater, I was a pompous arse to you. You deserve so much more, and I want to be the only one to give it to you. So, I'm wearing this blasted reindeer jumper as a symbol of a fresh start. No longer will these memories be sour and depressing, because in the long run, they led us right back to where we're supposed to be. “

Mark grabbed her hands from his waist and slid them back down to her sides. He wiped the sweat from his palms on the fronts of his jeans and cleared his throat. “Bridget,” he started as he fished around in his pocket. “Would you do me the honor of marrying me? For keeps, this time?” 

He was now on one knee, holding out a plain velvet box with a ring in it. It was a cry from the 4-carat giant he had proposed with the first time, which caused relief to flood in Bridget's chest. Instead of an ostentatious monstrosity, Mark had gone subtler this time around. The diamond sparkled in the light coming from the window, and the detailing of the scrollwork on the band was impressive. “It’s, uh, it’s a fair trade diamond from Botswana. I figured you would appreciate that,” he said, clearly nervous at her lack of response.

The tears Bridget had been staving off for the past hour now flowed freely down her cheeks. Her trembling hands were covering her mouth as she looked down at Mark’s face. The furrow that usually creased his brow was deeper than normal as he looked at her expectantly. The splotchiness in his neck was still there, and she could see his Adam’s apple moving the fabric of the turtleneck as he nervously swallowed. She had never seen hope in his face the way she saw it now. 

“Oh, Mark,” she whispered with a nod. “Is that a yes?” he asked nervously, standing up from his kneeling position. Bridget was now openly sobbing as she nodded again. “Yes. A thousand times yes.” All of the tension in Mark’s face melted as he gave her a watery grin. “My darling girl,” he said, pulling her into a bone crushing hug. She could feel his face buried into her hair, the sound of sniffling in her ear. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the entire world,” he whispered as he placed gentle kisses on her face. 

Bridget cupped his face in her hands as they both now openly wept (Mark only had a tear or two caught in his eyelashes, whereas she had tears flowing freely down her face). “I love you, Mark Darcy--reindeer jumper and all.” Mark laughed as he wiped the tears from her cheek. “And I, you. From this point on, I will do everything in my power to keep you right here where you belong.”

Bridget smiled and said, “I don’t think you’ll have to put up much of a fight this time.” 


End file.
